The Children's Services Division
by Rose Rovente
Summary: Muggles decide the Weasleys are unfit parents, as it seems their children don't go to school and their house has no eckeltricity.
1. Default Chapter

DISCLAIMER: Pardon for my rambling gobbledy-gook, and try not to sue, I beseech you. I own nothing, though if I did, it might add some form of meaning to my life. 

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IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE: I meant this to be amusing, not accurate, I don't know how the system works in England, I only know what I have experienced in Clackamas County, Gladstone, Oregon, USA. There is one glaring error: I think my OC should be a police officer, not a social worker, but that really shouldn't matter. Forgive me, and enjoy. 

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CHAPTER ONE 

A gray Honda crept across the yard of the Burrow that day, the chickens fled in terror, the dust unsettled and settled back again, and a middle-aged woman with dark features and a short, flippy haircut checked her makeup in the rear view mirror before stepping out of the car.

Mrs. Janice Wilson had what one might call a "fulfilling" occupation. Her work was important, yes it was true, as she removed abused and neglected children from their environments and placed them in better ones, but unbeknownst to herself, Janice would often get a little pretentious, as if she thought she were Mother Theresa, or a Guardian Angel, if you will. 

What is meant by this is: perhaps Janice was in this particular profession for other reasons; reasons a bit more selfish than merely helping children. 

And today, as far as she was concerned, she was truly delivering the meek and helpless from the valley of darkness. 

Four meeks, to be exact. 

As she looked upon the rambling shack that towered precariously before her, she felt that she was definitely a savior; why, she should get a metal for braving these ruins, this _trash pile _that the poor children were forced to live in! It looked as if it might topple down at any second. 

Yes, Mrs. Janice Wilson was a brave soul, if she did say so herself.

Like a valiant spirit, she pulled a small notepad from the breast pocket of her tastefully coordinated polyester pantsuit, reviewed her notes, adding some here and there as she went along. After a few seconds she held it at arm's length to admire her handiwork. Her notes read, in exemplary penmanship: 

-_not attending school_

-_never had shots_

-_impoverished living conditions_

-_believe by authorities to be a "crack house"_

-no electricity or running water

-no telephone

-seven children, William, Charles, Percy, George, Frederick, Ronald, Virginia

-mother and father, Molly and Arthur Weasley, under investigation for tax evasion

To this list she had added:

_-wild animals running rampant through the yard_

-unstable housing structure- like a barn or pigpen - disgusting

-no proper driveway or mailbox

She took a few breaths, did all of her grimacing there by the car, to be sure she would do nothing but smile kindly while in the house with the children, straightened the lapels of her sensible blazer, teased her bangs, and marched like a war hero toward the house. Giving a disdainful look at the pile of rubber boots near the front door, she knocked lightly, and waited.

Eventually an indifferent-looking little redheaded boy answered, and before Janice could open her mouth, he turned and screamed into the house, "PERCY! There's a _MUGGLE _at the door!" 

"Very amusing, Ron!" screamed a voice from somewhere deep inside, "I'M BUSY!" . 

"NO, REALLY!" Ron screamed, so loud that Janice almost had to cover her ears. Instead, she wrote down on her notepad; -_ill-mannered, probably as a result of abuse- called me some sort of insulting nonsense word._

"THERE REALLY IS A MUGGLE AT THE DOOR. I'M NOT LYING! COME LOOK!" With that, Ron went back in the house and slammed the door shut without another glance. 

Janice stood there blinking, utterly appalled by the boy's rudeness. Before she had time to scribble again in her pad, or raise her fist to knock again, the door opened once more, and there stood a taller, thinner boy, presumably Percy. 

Janice acted fast. "Good day. My name is Janice Wilson, from the Children's Services Division. Is your mother or father home?" 

The boy said nothing at first, staring suspiciously at her over his glasses. 

"No." 

"Your older brothers?" Janice tried. 

"What about them?"

"Are they here?" 

"They don't live here," Percy replied airily, "I'm in charge- what is your business?" 

In a calm, exquisitely professional yet compassionate voice, Janice Wilson told him, "I'm sorry, but I've come take the younger children into protective custody. Your parents have been deemed unfit to care for them. Unfortunately, since you are of age, there is nothing that can be done for you. However-"

As she went on and on, Percy withdrew a polished stick from his pajama dress.

Suddenly she had no idea where she was, or why she was standing there, for that matter. A redheaded boy in front of her was putting a polished stick into his pajamas- he was walking into the house- the door shut of its own accord. She stood there, dazed, feeling as though she'd consumed one too many strawberry daiquiris and not enough Wheat-Thins. 

After a few seconds she became aware that she was holding a small notepad. Skimming through her notes quickly, she nodded as she remembered her assignment. Perhaps she shouldn't have stayed up so late last night. The hour of sleep she had lost must be catching up with her. 

"Don't worry children," she whispered gallantly to herself, knocking on the door, "I'm here to save you." 

After enough time to tie both of one's shoes, even double-knot them, if one was fast, a little girl opened the door a crack and peaked through. 

"Hello, darling." Mrs. Janice Wilson said in a cheery, yet no-nonsense voice, " Are your parents home?"

The little girl shook her head, retreating a little into the house. Janice's heart-strings were officially tugged. Poor thing. Abused into shyness, a fear of adults no doubt beaten into her over the short years of her life…how the little girl would look up to Janice for saving her…!

Janice bent over to be at eye-level with the child. "May I come in? Don't worry, I'm from the Children's Services Division. I'm here to help you." 

The little girl, who had to be Virginia, seemed to consider this reluctantly for a moment, then hastily shook her head no. Janice smiled sweetly at her. 

"There's nothing to be afraid of, Virginia-" the little girl jumped at the sound of her name- "Is there an older brother here that I could speak to?" 

The little girl was indicating "no" when the door flew open, she was pulled out of the way, and another redhead, a boy with a wide smile, gestured for Janice to enter. "Welcome, Madam!" 

"Please," said another boy, identical to the first, who became visible when the door opened a little wider, "Welcome to our humble home!" 

Janice was surprised to be taken by the elbows and escorted into the house. It was a bit cramped, but surprisingly well lit, and well kept- Janice gasped, shook the boys off, and stood transfixed by the first thing she saw in the entry way. 

Were those pictures _moving_? Were those not some of the members of this family she had just met, waving at her from a framed picture that hung from the wall? Had she accidentally poured some Absolut in her coffee this morning? 

__

I must get more sleep, she thought. The twins were urging her forward, and since they didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, Janice brushed it off, making a mental note to set an extra appointment with her shrink that week. 

Nothing could have prepared her for the parlor, however. She went through her ritual; shaking off her escorts, letting her mouth open as wide as it could go without splitting the edges of her sensibly-colored lips, bringing a manicured hand to her mouth, emitting a squeak of surprise. She thought she heard the twins giggling behind her. 

Somebody, inexplicably, was kneeling before the fire, and _their head was in the flames! _

_Note to self, _Janice thought, _no more of those New Age vitamins in the morning! _

She gurgled at the twins and pointed toward the fireplace, looking remarkably like a fish as her mouth flopped open and shut, open and shut. The twins did not reply, but their eyes were dancing with amusement. 

"Something wrong, Miss, er-?" said one.

"Wilson- d- d-don't you see that?" 

"What, madam?" said the other with the utmost concern. 

Janice repeated her dance of mouth flopping and pointing. 

Suddenly the boy's head emerged from the fire, intact, hair and all. "Dad says go with her. We can't very well leave her out on the stoop all night. He says it'll be better just to wipe everyone's memory at once. Less time consuming- FRED! I told you not to let her in!" Percy had noticed Janice standing there. His face turned a very unbecoming shade of red. "You want to get expelled from Hogwarts before you even start?"

"It was George's idea!"

"Fred! You know damn well-"

"Awe, Perce- what's the harm? Her memories going to be modified anyway, isn't it?" one of the twins replied defensively, then, turning to Janice, said, "Would you like to see what a _real _gnome looks like?"

"Or a ghoul," said the other excitedly, "would you like to see a ghoul?" 

"Stop it right now! None of that," said Percy warningly. 

Janice's brain went into autopilot. "Don't worry, children," she muttered, "you are going to be taken to better place, where you will have clean clothes, proper education, three square meals a day-" 

"-we're allergic," said one of the twins. 

"To what?" Janice said. She shook her head a little, tried to wipe away what she'd just seen and go back to performing her job. 

"Peanuts," said the other. 

"And cereal," offered the first. 

"Well," said Janice, gaining her composure, doing her best to ignore another family portrait that was over the mantel, "Best get this out of the way right now. What kind?" 

"Honey roasted." 

"Cereal?" 

"Pancakes." 

"Both of you?" 

"No, just me."

"Which one is you?" 

"George."

"And we're both allergic to cherries and cucumbers." 

_George_- _honey roasted pancakes, Fred- peanut cereal, cucumbers, _Janice wrote on her pad. "Right. Now, if there's anything you'd like to bring with you-"

"And fish," piped in Ron. 

"Fish?" 

"Yes, ma'am, Alaskan Cod." 

"And veal." 

"Wait, wait now," said Janice, scribbling furiously on her notepad, "Fred, Alaskan Cod- George, veal cod-"

"There's no such thing." 

"_I'm _allergic to fish, not him." 

Janice looked up. "Which one of you is him?"

"Ron."

_Ron- fish, veal, _she wrote in her pad. 

"But only if it's dipped in chocolate." 

"Chocolate_ fish?_"

"No, a cherry." 

"Actually, cucumbers, too. As long as it's dipped in chocolate." 

"Oh yes, and green apples."

"But only if they were grown six meters from a tree bearing oranges."

"In October."

"Alright, George veal and cucumbers, Fred, chocolate cereal apples-" 

"And Ginny's allergic to rice and-"

"ENOUGH!" Percy barked, and Ron, Fred and George dissolved in a fit of giggles.

The three boys could have been triplets at this point, she was feeling so loopy. As they had moved to sit on the sofa, they all looked the same height and there wasn't much a of difference, that she could see, anyway, in their three grins. 

__

"Mrs. Welkes," Percy told her, crossing his arms impatiently. "Take them away, _please_. Maybe now I can get some studying done." 

Janice nodded, not bothering to correct him. She put on her most benevolent face and clapped her well-moisturized hands together. "Alright, then. Please try not to be frightened. I'm sure you'll be very happy with your new families. Now, are there any belongings you would like to bring with you right away? The rest can be sent for." 

The twins shrugged. Ron shook his head no. Ginny, who had been rolling her eyes at the confusion earlier, told her no also. 

"Okay, if you'll all follow me, then," Janice said. 

The four of them jumped up and raced for the door. 

Very peculiar, she thought. It wasn't normally like this. Usually there was a good deal of crying and carrying on, in which she would be the pillar of strength in the fragile worlds of the children. Through her, they would see that there was a light, however dim, at the end of the darkest of tunnels. Perhaps, she thought sadly, these children were truly so miserable that the prospect of leaving brought them joy. Her heart swelled with pride, thinking of the selfless public service she performed each and every day. 

Percy cleared his throat loudly and held out his hand. "Fred?" 

"Awe, come on, Perce." 

"_Now_, Frederick." 

Fred sighed and pulled out a polished stick, not unlike his brother's, from his jacket pocket and placed it in Percy's outstretched palm. 

"Well, we'll be off then-" George began. 

"_George._" Percy said, "Hand it over." 

George handed over his.

-_Possible Satanic/brainwashing practices within the family, _Janice scribbled in her notebook, _Children appear to be delusional- ideas that they will be rescued by their father- they all carry sticks- perhaps to protect themselves from regular beatings? Eldest one seems to have a degree of animosity toward younger siblings. _

"…will come and fetch your around eight this evening," Percy was saying, "Be good, and Fred and George, _don't do anything stupid_, do you here me? Dad doesn't want a fiasco, he doesn't want any owls sent, he doesn't want to have to do anything but wipe a few memories and bring you home-" 

"Yes, mummy," said the twins in unison. 

"They're all yours," Percy told Janice, gesturing toward the front door. 

Janice blazed the way outside, like a noble monarch leading his knights home from battle, onward toward hope and the bright new future that awaited them. 

However, it is unlikely that the knights would walk behind their King in this manner: sniggering and playfully elbowing each other, plotting how they could fit the most amount of trouble into one evening. 

"RONALD WEASLEY!" Percy roared when they were halfway to the car, "YOU COME HERE RIGHT NOW AND GIVE ME YOUR WAND!" 

_Wand? _Janice thought.

Perhaps a three or four sessions with her psychiatrist were in order.


	2. 

CHAPTER 2

"What's this?" 

"Oh- honey- please don't touch that-"

"-does it make the car go?" 

"-Ron, darling, I need you to put on your seatbelt." 

"My what?" 

"WOW!" 

"Please don't do that, Fred." 

"It's George- how does this work?" 

"Eckeltricity, dummy." 

"Yeah, I know, but _how?_"

"I don't like this 'seat belt' - it's digging into my neck."

"George please quit playing-"

"OW! IT'S EATING ME! IT'S EATING ME!" 

"Mrs. Wilson!" 

"Honestly, child, let go of the button!" 

"MY HAND IS STILL STUCK!" 

Janice sighed, trying to gather her usual steel-strength nerves. She signaled and pulled over to the edge of the highway to set George's hand free from the electric window, and assist Ron in properly wearing his seatbelt- he'd managed to wrap it around his neck. 

"Haven't you ever ridden in a car before?" she asked. 

"Of course," said Ron, "Dad has one. It has window cranks, though." 

"He tore out the 'seatbelts,'" George said from the backseat, "didn't know what they were for." 

"What _are _they for?" asked Ginny, who sat between the twins. 

"Muggle's have slippery arses," Fred told her. 

"FRED!" Janice shrieked, as she pulled back into traffic, "Language! I don't want to hear that nonsense word out of your mouth again." 

"Not so nice once she's got us away, is she?" said Ron darkly. 

"I don't mean to be cross," said Janice in her most sincere tone, "It's just important that we watch our mouths. We don't want our new family to think we're bad little boys and girls, do we?"

The twins sniggered. Nobody seemed to have a reply, and Janice foolishly thought that she'd gotten through to them, and that they would behave from then on. 

"Where are we going?" Ginny asked. 

"To our offices. We'll have you speak individually with our counselors and place you with a family." 

George snorted. "Who'd be thick enough take in the four of us?" 

"You'll probably be separated, I'm afraid." 

"Even him and I?"

"Not if we can help it, but it's a possibility." 

"You Muggles are that cruel? You'd actually separate-"

"-now Fred, what did I just say about that word?"

"I don't remember. And I'm _George._"

"I said I don't want-"

"We're driving so fast," Fred said weakly, "Could you slow down?"

Janice pursed her lips. "I'm going the speed limit. If I go any slower, we'll get pulled over." 

"By a police man?" asked Ron excitedly, "That would be wicked!" 

"No, it most certainly would not-"

"Uh oh… Mrs. Wilson, you'd really better slow down," said George, "Ginny, switch places with me." 

"Rubbish, George. I am not interested in getting a ticket. Don't move… you can't be moving around the car like that when it's moving!" 

From the rearview mirror she could see George climbing over Ginny to Fred, who was hunched over slightly and seemed to be concentrating hard on something. "I'm warning you, you'd better stop this car- or open the window." 

"That will waste the air conditioning- what are you doing?" 

"Last chance." said George, then, after a moment, when Janice didn't slow down, "You asked for it, Mrs. Wilson," He pulled off his funny looking hat and managed to get it to Fred's mouth before he was sick all over the car. 

"Gross!" said Ron as Fred heaved. 

"Oh Fred!" cried Ginny. 

"OH FRED!" shrieked Janice.

"That's it, Freds, get it _all _out-" George was saying, patting Fred on the back. Janice saw him deliberately move the hat to one side as his brother lurched one last time, getting vomit on her leather seat. "Oops," he giggled. 

Once again Janice pulled off to the side of the road, not so smoothly this time, more like a irritated jerk. She put the car in park and glared at George. 

"I warned you," he said indignantly, handing Fred a handkerchief, "Here, hold this for a moment, will you?" 

Before she knew what was happening, she was holding the hat full of sick. All pretenses 

abandoned, she let out a disgusted roar, kicked her door open and threw it out. "What on _earth_ are we going to do about my seats!" 

"I'm truly sorry about that, ma'am," Fred offered with a tiny smile, avoiding the mess as he got out of the car. 

"Sorry's not going to clean it up, is it?" she spat. 

"No need to get all irate," Ron said evenly, "He can't help it if he gets car sick." 

"We aren't used to driving on the ground-"

"-for such long distances-"

"-or so jerkily. _Our _car flies."

"You might consider getting your socks replaced." 

"_Shocks,"_ George corrected. 

In spite of herself, Janice was feeling not only dizzy with anger, but ganged up on. She got out of the car and walked a little ways up the road. She counted to ten, then twenty, then thirty- but _gosh darn it, _counting wasn't going to replace her unbelievably expensive seat covers! She reminded herself just how sick these children were- illusions of flying cars and all. They were probably trying to irritate her because they were starving for attention, even negative attention; attention they never received from there despicable parents. 

Her deflated head was swelling again. She was saving these poor children, and deserved sainthood for putting up with them. She and her iron will would survive and overcome, and these children would reap the benefits! 

That is why she only laughed shrilly and shook her head in miserable disbelief when she went back to the car and found the children cleaning up with not only feminine protection they'd found in the glove box, but a recently dry-cleaned blouse. 

_You little bastards, _she thought. But out loud, while gritting her teeth:

"OH, you silly children! I still owe money on that blouse! It was more than a week's pay." 

"Well we weren't planning on _keeping _it," said Fred. He handed it back to her. 

She took a deep, deep breath, tossed her insanely expensive Dolce & Gabbana puke rag out into the street next to the hat, and forced herself to smile. "Get back in the car, dearies. Shall we wait for you stomach to settle a little before we're off, Fred?" 

"I think I'll be fine," Fred replied sweetly. 

"Wonderful." 

They crept up the highway for another five minutes or so, Janice looking back nervously at Fred every few seconds, who in turn smiled innocently at her. Then Ron announced he had to use the bathroom. She insist he hold it, as they would arrive at their destination soon, but he was squirming so badly that she feared once again for her seats. They pulled over at a nearby filling station. 

"I would like you to stay here and not move while I take your brother to the restroom." She told them sternly. 

"Could we get a little something to drink?" George asked. 

"I'm sure you can wait until we get to the office." 

"I'm feeling a little ill again," Fred said slyly, "Something fizzy might help." 

"Fine," Janice dug in the pocket of her blazer and gave them a handful of change. She was mildly irritated to see them picking out sweets as she escorted Ron to the back of the store. When they came out she had to drag them away from the counter, as they were trying to haggle down the price of their items with an already harassed-looking cashier. 

"GAH!" George yelped not ten minutes later, as they continued down the highway, "GAHBLABLECH!"

He was spitting little pink nuggets everywhere, and gasping like he was trying to bring up a hairball, and soon Fred had a hold of his brother's tongue and in a panic was senselessly jerking George's head back and forth by it, and Ron was bent over the back of the seat, both he and his sister beating him on the back. Janice pulled over the car again, and after much confusion, it became clear, much to her annoyance, that George had never before tried Pop-Rocks. 

And finally, nearly an hour and a half behind schedule, they pulled in to the lot belonging to CSD. Janice urged them out quickly, _very _eager to hand them over to someone else. 

It was a shame that she was in such a hurry and didn't mind the children lagging behind her, or she might have seen Fred casually pull out his wand and use it to scratch his back. 

"How-?" Ron asked with a smile. 

Fred smirked. "You didn't think I'd give Percy my _real _wand, did you?" 


	3. 

DISCLAIMER: I don't own one damn thing. Not one! It is all own by JK Rowlings and publishing companies and stuff, and if you offered me money I would most certainly refuse. 

CHAPTER THREE 

Janice, wishing for a shower, stormed into the unfurnished entry area and stopped to wait for the children lagging behind her. She no longer felt fresh and vibrant, in fact, she felt quite filthy and rather insane. She wanted to run through the administrative office screaming "_unclean_!" like some sort of Biblical leper. 

Also resisting the urge to roar out across the parking lot for the children to hurry up, she busied herself with re-flipping her hair and rubbing away the smudges of lipstick that bled around her mouth. She studied her reflection in the window (which was in need of cleaning, too) and felt herself calming down. 

She took a moment to remind herself what a hero she was. She was the Shepherd, shepherding the poor meek weak sheep who had never before had a proper shepherd to shepherd them, and damn it, she was going to shepherd, whether they liked it or not! 

And then she looked down at the breast of her polyester pantsuit, and spotted an indefinable chunk of God-knows-what. 

The next thing she saw was her sensible pump kicking the front door, and her mouth was open wide to scream all of the obscenities she'd ever learned-

"Mrs. Wilson!" George called sweetly, bounding up to her, "You've forgotten your purse!" 

"But we fetched it for you!" Fred added. 

They _were _awfully cute children, the nasty little things. At least their miserable parents had been kind enough to hand them down good-looking genes. She reminded herself once again of the trials they had already endured- that terrible house, their unkind elder brother… 

…and their eyes were so big and innocent…

Regardless, George and Fred each held up a strap of the purse to her and she didn't want to take it. She didn't trust the eagerness with which they were returning it, nor the way Ron was looking so pleased, as if they'd performed some kind of amazing task. 

_Don't be silly, _Janice told herself. Really- what was she afraid of? That Fred had been purposely sick in it? 

She took it from them with her thumb and forefinger and shook it back and forth. It _felt _the same; weight, texture, everything. Nothing appeared to be soaking through the fabric from the inside. 

She gave the three of them what she believe to be an intense, piercing glare, but they only beamed back at her. 

She narrowed her eyes.

They smiled at her. 

She pursed her lips. 

They smiled at her. 

She put her hand on her hip.

They smiled at her. 

"Well," said George cheerily, surveying the building, "Shall we go in?" 

She blinked once. 

They smiled at her. 

She loudly cleared her throat. 

Fred cleared his throat louder. "We're running late, Mrs. Wilson. Shall we?" 

She gave Fred, who at this point was most definitely her least favorite, what she hoped was an extra-super-duper piercing glare. 

"Is something the matter, Mrs. Wilson?" 

Her bottom eyelids twitched. 

"Alright, children," she replied slowly, "away we go." 

Fred and George were a marvel in the offices of CSD. They bounced around the room and received pats on the head and a pinching each on the cheek from the plump and merry receptionist. They were called "strapping," by the office manager. They were hit left and right with silly twin questions by nearly everyone working. One young female filing clerk fawned over them for quite a prolonged period of time, and as Janice guided the four of them into a receiving area/waiting room, she was close after them, calling, "Wait! One more guess! You're Fred, and _you're _George-"

Janice slammed the door in her face. 

"Now," she said gently, "you'll stay here and watch the television for a few minutes while I get your affairs in order. Don't worry, it's okay to be upset. No one will think less of you for crying."

"Really?" asked Ron meekly. 

"Of course, darlings."

"Alright." 

She had said the wrong thing. There was a sudden change over the Weasley children, and was it ever heart-wrenching! The reality of the situation had finally hit. Janice felt immediately guilty for being so cross with them as the poor twins began to wail, clinging to each other until both of them were red, and screaming, "I don't want to lose you, brother!" 

Ron joined them in a tight group hug, and Fred and George having the same voice and he being their brother, their wailing were so harmonious that Janice had a fleeting thought that, if they added one more, the boys would make an excellent barbershop quartet. 

The sister stood back from them, looking oddly annoyed. 

__

Poor little girl, Janice thought, _she is simply too young to understand that she most likely will never see her parents again. _

It was time for Janice to be strong for them. It was time for her to work her soothing magic! "It's all going to be alright, Fred, George. There, there." 

"NO IT WON'T!" One of them cried. 

"Come now. Don't worry, you'll be able to visit each other regularly." 

"NO!" shrieked all three at once. The echo was deafening off the sparse walls and high ceilings of the waiting room. 

"We'll let you say goodbye before you're taken to your homes." 

"No! You can't do this! It's not right! _We'll die!" _

"Come along, now. You'll be just fine. Don't be frightened." 

It was no use. Soon the three were on the floor, writhing and bawling as if they were being tortured, or perhaps the world was ending. Janice wasn't quite sure what to do; she'd never experienced a tantrum of this magnitude. She had another fleeting thought, and that was to accuse the children of faking it, because the way Ron was howling like a grumpy werewolf certainly didn't sound very convincing. But of course she couldn't- how would that look? 

"We'll try to find someone to take all of you." Janice bribed. _Please shut up,_ she thought. 

"_Really_?" George bawled. 

"Well, at least you and your twin brother." 

The wailing increased several thousand decibels. Ron beat the floor with his fists, and Fred began to beat mournfully on Ron, and George was crying meaningfully at Janice, that she should give him a hanky from her purse. 

"I don't have a hanky in my purse."

"Honestly, you three," Ginny said, "You should leave the poor woman alone." 

All three of them stopped for a moment to smiled at her. 

"Who asked you?" Ron said, and the three commenced once more.

Luckily, Hercules, her coworker and knight in expensively tailored armor, appeared from his office around the bend. His golden hair, pulled back into a lush ponytail, always seemed to be windswept from his milky-smooth skin. He walked with confidence in his stride, his navy suit clinging seductively to his body in all the right places. Janice felt herself nearly swooning. 

"Ah, I know it's hard," he declared loudly as he came up to the children, his voice kind yet firm, "But it will all turned out better in the long run." 

The children appeared not to have heard, but Hercules was not fazed. Janice sighed and felt her heart begin to race. 

"Fear not, children," he declared flamboyantly, "for Hercules Lockhart is here to counsel you!" 

Ah, the magic Mr. Lockhart worked each and everyday! It was truly amazing. Janice thought she might giggle, or shriek with glee like a little school girl. The very moment the words came glistening out of his mouth, the children were silenced. They helped each other off the floor. Fred and George looked quickly at one another, then at Ron. Their faces were still very red. 

"_Lockhart_?" said one. 

"Any relations to Gilderoy?" blurted the other. 

Mr. Lockhart's face darkened. "Yes."

And then the three of them exploded with laughter. Soon they were on the floor again, rolling around and nearly suffocating. 

Mr. Lockhart batted his eyes as he surveyed the commotion. "What on earth is so funny, Mrs. Wilson?" 

"Why, I don't know, Hercules," Janice cooed, standing very close to him, "I'm divorced, you know. You may call me Miss Fleggenheimer." 

Mr. Lockhart regarded her nervously. "Okay… Miss… Fleggenheimer… now, who do we have here this afternoon?" 

"I think I'm going to be sick again!" Fred howled, clutching his sides. 

Ginny rolled her eyes, wandered to one side of the waiting room, and took a seat.

"Wait till Mum finds out!" Ron choked, tears streaming down his face. 

"I _am _going to be sick!" George called, and somehow the three of them managed to haul themselves upright. Janice didn't stop them as they drug George out of the room. 

"Quite a handful, they've been…" Janice whispered huskily, glancing quickly at Ginny, who was flipping through a magazine, "My, Mr. Lockhart, that _is _a _lovely _new suit you're wearing!" She took a step closer and fingered his shoulder pads. 

"Thank you- er- Madam- but I say, er- the children?" 

"What about them?" 

"Surely you shouldn't let them just run about." 

"Oh I'm sure the little bastar- little _darlings _can find their way to the restroom on their own," replied Janice, dismissively waving her hand, "But until they return…"

Mr. Lockhart pried her hands away. His eyes were tense. He saw that Janice was insulted and smiled brightly at her. "Why, Mrs. Wil- Miss Flegg- may I call you Janice?" 

"Oh, certainly!" 

"Well, Janice, you never answered my question. Who are these new children?." 

She rattled off their names.

Mr. Lockhart's smile fell. "And their last name?" 

"Oh, um," Janice consulted her trusty notepad. "Weasley." 

Mr. Lockhart looked as though he'd seen a ghost. His face turned a unattractive (yet unmistakably sexy, Janice thought) shade of greenish-gray. He batted his lush eyelashes and clicked his well-kept fingernails together. "And er- what are you doing with them?" 

_Why? _Janice thought with annoyance, _why such an interest in the damn children? What about me, me ME? _but out loud: "They're scheduled to be introduced to their respective caseworkers, of course, and then we're shipping them off… _why?_" 

A delicious smile, formed with supple and perfect lips, spread across the face of Hercules Lockhart. He took a step closer to Janice, looking deep into her eyes. "Oh, Miss Fleggenheimer…" 

"Yes?" said Janice breathlessly. 

"Oh_… _Miss_… Fleggenheimer…" _

"Yes! Oh what, yes?" 

"Miss Fleggenheimer… a… beautiful woman like you shouldn't be so bloody _stressed_…" Mr. Lockhart whispered, toying with a little piece of her flippy hair. "You should let _me _take care of them." 

"I should?" gasped Janice, in ecstasy. _His HAND IS ON MY WAIST!_

"You should." __

"Be my guest… but be warned… they're awful stinking disgusting brats…"

__

Just like that, the passion was gone. Mr. Lockhart went to the door and opened it, waving for Janice to leave. "Good. I'll see you tomorrow morning then," He chirped, patting her rather roughly on the back. 

"What? But Hercules-"

"Call me Mr. Lockhart, Mrs. Wilson. See ya!" He pushed Janice and her gaping mouth out of the room and slammed the door shut. 

He turned, nostrils flaring like an angry bull, and crept toward the little girl. He came inches from her face. She ignored him, scowling at an extremely old issue of _Good Housekeeping. _

"How on earth do you Muggles read this _rubbish?_" she asked him without looking up, "You mind backing up a bit? You're invading my space." 

He growled at her. 

"Look, I don't mean to be rude, but your breath is dreadful." 

Mr. Lockhart straightened himself up and self-consciously breathed into a cupped hand, taking a healthy whiff. "It does not!" 

"It does."

He polished his teeth with his index finger. "How about now?"

"Ugh." 

He faltered for a moment, shocked. "Well- do you have a Breath-Saver or something? How long has it- did you notice it when I came into the room? I mean is it _that _bad?" 

"As long as you stand far away, I can't smell a thing." 

"Alright- here?" Mr. Lockhart asked, standing a few paces away. 

Ginny crinkled her nose. "A bit farther… a little farther… yes, right there." 

"Good. Now," he sucked in a long breath and wagged his index finger in the air, waiting for the words to come. 

They didn't.

"Now… you listen here… I… well I…what I meant to say is… what were we just talking about?" 

"Your stinky breath," Ginny answered promptly, "Sir." 

"_Before _that, you insolent little dung beetle!" Hercules Lockhart shouted, preparing to lunge at her. 

"Ah ah ah!" Ginny warned, "stay back." 

He stopped, feeling his irritation beginning to fester. "I remember now. Do you know who I am, little girl?" 

"My name is Ginny," she said, picking up an issue of _Martha Stewart Living, _"Sir. And you are Mr. Lockhart." 

"Well," said Hercules, puffing out his chest, "_I_ know who _you _are!" 

"I'm impressed," she said, flipping a page, "Geez…really how _do _you Muggles read this trash?" 

"QUIET!" He flipped his golden ponytail off of his shoulder and narrowed his eyes, "_I, _my miniscule bunny-nugget_,_ am _not _a Muggle." 

"Then why are you a social worker?" 

He brought his hand dramatically to his chest. "_I, _you little rabbit-pellet, am a _Squib!_"

"Oh, I see. That's why you have a Muggle job." 

"No!" Hercules insisted, "It is because I like helping snot-nosed little… little- _unpleasant _children like yourselves," He stood tall and proud, his chin raised so high that he couldn't see passed his cheeks, "Let me tell you who _I _am! I am the brother of Gilderoy Lockhart, the Greatest Wizard in All the World!"

"Hmm." said Ginny indifferently, not taking her eyes off the magazine. "My mum reads his books." 

"Of course she does! _Every _witch reads his books. Your mom's a witch, isn't she, Ginny? And so are you. And your brothers are-"

"-idiots. Which has what to do with what, may I ask?" 

"Let me tell you a story, my darling."

"Can I finish this article first? I'm learning how to make candlesticks out of-"

"No you may not!" Hercules roared, tearing the magazine out of her hands and throwing it across the room. "Listen to me! Once upon a time, there were two little boys, and one of them was a wizard, though the other was not. The younger boy was very sad, but the older was very supportive and always willing to share with his younger brother all of the stories and-and- trials- and- and- _tribulations_ of being a wizard, and all of the horrible monsters he had to fight, and…and…a long time ago your father raided my house and confiscated my brother's enchanted hair curlers!" 

__

He paused, staring intensely down at her for a reaction. 

She looked up at him, bewildered. 

"Well?" he demanded, "What do you think of that?"

"That wasn't a very good story at all. You jumped around a lot and it really had no point."

"YES IT DID!" Mr. Lockhart roared. Ginny waved her hand in front of her face and crinkled her nose. Hercules took a step back. "Your father is evil incarnate! My brother walked around with limp and lifeless hair for _days!" _

"And?" 

"And I know this is all a big mistake, but I'm going to single-handedly make sure that you are not returned home! I'm going to take you to live with- with- with _single-toothed mountain people_, where no one will _ever _find you!"

Ginny raised her eyebrows and shook her head. "I don't know what my mother would think of that, Mr. Lockhart." 

Just then there were several explosions, then the shriek of a woman shot throughout the building, along with a gale of wind that caused the doors to fly open and the blinds to be torn from the window sills. Papers, pencils, folders and little jars of White-Out were suddenly flying about the room as if in a tornado, and the sound of the wind was deafening. Other screams followed, and Hercules and Ginny ran out to see what was all the commotion, their hair flapping madly around their faces. 

Mrs. Janice Wilson had opened her purse. 


	4. 

DISCLAIMER: Gosh, am I sick of writing these things. NOT MINE NOT MINE NOT MINE NOT MINE!!!

CHAPTER FOUR

It is important in this chapter to understand and contemplate the word _vast. _

Let us also explore the definition of _canyon. _A canyon is a big-ass hole in the earth, most often with a river or stream running along the bottom, as did the canyon that was in Janice's purse. Vast would be very applicable not only to the Purse Canyon, but the social worker's gaping mouth, no longer glossed, but fast chapping and drying from the wind and dust and dirt that was flying up and out of the enormous hole. Lucky for her that she'd tried a new sort of mascara that had turned out rather lumpy, or she may have been blinded. 

Yes, it was a very windy day at The Canyon in Janice's Purse, and her lashes were soon crusted with dust. 

_Now… how on earth did the Grand Canyon get in my purse? _she thought numbly. Being the terribly clever and nimble-minded person she was, the Weasley children did not once come to mind. It had to be her vitamins, or that mystery horse pill that had come in the same package. She regretted that that morning she'd thrown caution to the wind and ordered an extra shot in her cappuccino. She was oblivious to the people around her who were running about in a panic, getting belted by tiny pieces of office odds and ends. She was unable to hear their screams over the roaring wind. She could only stare into the canyon, watching the contents of her purse fall down and down and down, until they were washed away by the river. 

Just then Hercules Lockhart galloped into the room, glanced bravely around, dove at Janice, taking her purse and with some effort clasping it shut. Paper clips and pencils flying around the office fell immediately to the floor. The roar of the wind was cut off. 

Hercules panted heavily and threw his ponytail over his shoulder, replacing some stray hair around his ears. He whipped out his handkerchief and dabbed at his face. Janice brought her hand to her chest. She didn't notice, but the chunk of god-knows-what had fully dried and fell to the floor. All the other office Muggles, the ones who hadn't managed to find a door and run for the hills in their panic, stood round silently, not quite knowing what to do. 

A little red-headed girl streaked passed them, calling out the names of her brothers. They appeared from around the bend and there was a collision. Four children were lying dazed on the floor. 

"Ugh," breathed Fred as they helped each other up. 

"_You!" _Hercules yowled, charging forward, accusing finger outstretched. He bared his teeth at one of the twins and repeated, "_You!" _

The twin cringed. "George, hand this bloke a mint, will you?" 

George obliged. Mr. Lockhart's lip curled as he knocked it rather violently out of George's hand. 

"_Ow!" _George cried indignantly. 

"Really," said Fred angrily, stepping forward, "What _is _your problem?" 

"George was only trying to help," said Ron. 

"Really, Mr. Lockhart, I wasn't lying about your breath," Ginny said sweetly. 

Hercules turned to face the Muggles. "These little hellions are responsible for the destruction of our office!" 

The Muggles gasped.

"Us?" said Ron innocently, "But we're only children." 

"We can't help it," said Fred, "living in properties and all." 

"It's _poverty_, you daft little donkey-cake!" Mr. Lockhart snapped, trembling with anger. 

"I would appreciate it if you didn't talk to my brother like that."

"Oh yes?" said Hercules, spinning around to George again, "and what is a little piggy b.m. like you going to do about it?" 

"Relax, already," replied George, taking a step back, "Read somewhere a lot Muggle women wish they had more room in there handbags-"

"So we thought we'd help her out," Fred finished. 

"_Bull _pucky!" 

"That spring water," Janice muttered, her eyes unfocused, "I never did trust that bottled rubbish. Lord knows what they _really _put in it… spring water…" 

"Look here!" roared Hercules, "Look what you've done to the poor woman! Anastasia! _Anastasia_! Ana- blast, where is that _useless _secretary of mine?" 

Then suddenly a look came over the smooth and radiant face of Mr. Hercules Lockhart. The corners of his mouth upturned into a smile of pure evil. He looked dangerously pleased as he said to the children, "Why, I suppose I don't even need to tell my sec-" He stopped abruptly and gave an evil eye to his coworkers, still frozen where they stood. "-what are all of you staring at?" he barked, "get back to work, why don't you?"

The Muggles scattered. 

If Janice Wilson's mind had not shut off completely at this point, she may have noted (though probably not) that Mr. Hercules Lockhart was no longer looking like the epitome of dreamboat. Scary troll was more like. 

"Come along," said Mr. Lockhart to the children, "we're leaving." 

Ron snorted. "We're not going anywhere with the likes of _you." _

"Yes, yes you certainly are. We can go the easy way-" He paused dramatically, drawing a breath and puffing out his chest, "-or the _hard _way." 

Fred and George feigned fear.

"Goodness, Fredsie!" George cried, "Looks like we've got no choice but to go with him!" 

"It's true, Georgie! Oh what are we ever to do? Three _wizards _and a _witch _are surely no match for a highly powerful _Muggle!" _

"I AM NOT A MUGGLE!" shrieked Mr. Lockhart. "And if you know what's good for you, you'll step into my office this instant!"

Grins broke across the faces of the Weasley twins; grins so malicious that they put Lockhart's to shame. They glanced sideways at each other and one stepped forward and cleared his throat, turning to his sister and brother. 

"Well, Ron, Ginny…" he began diplomatically, "Fred and I have just discussed -at length- what is to be done. We are the eldest, and more specifically, _I _am the eldest, and we have decided that it would be in our best interest to go along and do whatever Mr. Lockhart says-"

"Oh, leave off with the Percying," said Ginny. "We all know you just want to mess with him." 

"Ginny! Don't spoil it!" Ron elbowed her. 

"Not that I object," Ginny assured him, "I mean I'll be the first to admit the man is a ogre-" 

"AN OGRE!?" Lockhart growled, proving Ginny's point. 

"Come on, fall in," George ordered, and the three lined up behind him in order of age. "Don't worry, Mr. Lockhart I've got them under control. Lead the way." 

"You first," Hercules sniffed indignantly. 

After he had sat them down and retold his captivating tale of enchanted hair curlers, he gazed expectantly down at them, much like he'd done to Ginny earlier. 

"That is horrible," Fred declared, "Please except my heartfelt apology for my father's inexcusable and atrocious behavior." 

"The nerve of him!" George added venomously. 

"A disgrace!" said Ron. 

"Dear God," Ginny offered flatly. 

Mr. Lockhart's face softened. He smiled serenely at them, shaking his head. "You see? I knew Janice couldn't possibly be correct. I simply _knew _you couldn't be the horrible little antichrists she made you out to be." As he spoke, he walked in a slow circle around were they sat, until he stood directly behind them. None of the children looked around, lest he see their smiles. "Yes, you're very sorry for what your father did, yes, that's very good, very good-"

Fred felt a hand in his robe, but it happened so quickly he barely had time to flinch- and Lockhart stood in front of them again, holding Fred's wand. 

"-but not good enough!" Lockhart threw his head back and proceeded to laugh like a mad man. 

"Oh no…" said George under his breath. 

"AH HA!" Lockhart gaffawed, dangling it for a split second in front of Fred's face. He went to his desk and dropped the wand in the drawer, locking it with a key and putting it safely in his pocket. "Now, my little cattle-muffins, _I'll _show _you _what it's like to have _limp _and _lifeless _hair!" 

Without warning he sprang forward and grabbed Ginny by the scalp. She let out a yelp and the twins jumped to her rescue, each grabbing one of his arms. Hercules struggled and managed to throw Fred off with his free arm, sending him crashing painfully to the floor- George sank his teeth into Lockhart's hand- he roared but held fast to Ginny's hair. Fred stood and charged forward for another attack but got pummeled with Lockhart's free arm.

Ron stood back, helpless, feeling himself burning inside with anger. He clenched his fists. "You- you leave them alone you- you- you- _dickhead!" _

And then something very strange began to happened to Mr. Hercules Lockhart's face. His nose turned very red. It began to stretch and enlongate. He let Ginny go, and Fred and George let go of him, awed. 

His nose stretched, and it stretched, and it stretched and it stretched and it stretched. 

"What is happening!" Lockhart cried out desperately, clutching his nose, now hanging six inches from his face. He bared his teeth, growled, looked to Fred on his left, to George on his right, his penis-like nose wagging back and forth hilariously. 

Ron, Ginny, Fred and George were incapacitated with laughter while Lockhart rummaged frantically through a drawer in his desk. 

He produced a mirror and gazed into it. 

Now, take a moment, once again, to contemplate the meaning of _vast. _

Vast was the number of people that must have heard Mr. Hercules Lockhart's earsplitting, girlish shriek of terror. Vast was the children's joy as they saw their antagonist witnessing his worst nightmare, and vast was Lockhart's anger. Vast was the children's fear as he snarled, overturned his desk, his strength doubled by his rage, and charged at them. 

"I'LL HAVE YOUR HEADS FOR THIS!" 

In the next room, vast was the emptiness of Janice Wilson's head, even when the ground beneath her began to shake. She sat at the receptionist's desk, electrically sharpening a pencil down to its stub. She stared at a picture of a sailboat that hung on the opposite wall, spittle collecting in the corners of her mouth. Her sensible heels began to vibrate. A glass paperweight brought her back to consciousness by exploding and shattering everywhere. With that the shaking increased, only differing from an earthquake in that it came in intervals like footsteps. 

Suddenly the double front doors flew open with a spray of leaves, dirt, a couple of woodland creatures and a flock of frightened chickens. 

"Molly, honey, please…" said a timid voice of a man, "Molly, darling, you should let us handle this- you're very upset, love, let's just calm down, sweetheart-"

"OUT OF MY WAY!" said the stern voice of a woman.

The next thing Janice heard was the _ugh _of someone being pushed aside, and the woman's voice again, louder, growing closer; a voice that made her stomach flop uneasily: "MRS. JANICE WILKES! WHERE ARE YOU? _I HAVE COME FOR MY CHILDREN!_" 

__

To be continued. Do I have to change my rating for using the word penis? If so, I guess that proves I'm not capable of writing a story below the rating of R….. but hey, they say penis in E.T. and lots of people under thirteen have seen that. Ho hum. Geez… I also said ass didn't I? Hmm… anyway here is a shameless plug for my other stories: 

If any of you readers like Dark fics, please check out my other stories, "Anatomy of a Death Eater," in progress, and the completed (but soon to be revised) "Undone." Creepiness and major angst warning, but I think they're pretty okay. However, if you don't like dark stuff, please do not read them, because I don't want all you innocent Humor fans to find out what a weird, twisted, and sadistic person I really am… ::::giggles::: If you do read them, please review them also. (Ha, like I don't do enough begging within every chapter of those stories). 


	5. 5

CHAPTER 5

As you might imagine, Mrs. Molly Weasley was incredibly, most wondrously, extraordinarily angry. Already displaced office items scattered to make way for her thunderous footsteps, and anything made of glass- little windows on doors, snow globes, pictures-- all shattered under the white heat of her magical rage. Maternal fury radiated around her in waves so strong they cause heart murmurs in pedestrians blocks away. Stacks of papers spontaneously burst into flame; the sides of filing cabinets crumpled and imploded with fear. Everyone's heart skipped a beat, and not the "in love" kind of skipping beat, no, it was the heartbeat skip of clammy, moist-palmed fear. It was rumored that You-Know-Who himself woke from a terrible nightmare that day and, whimpering like a little school girl, beseeched Wormtail to hold him until drifted back to sleep.

Janice Wilson did perhaps the wisest thing she had ever done in all of her aloof and uppity life. She ran like hell. But as established, a clever woman Janice was not, and so of course what she did next was profoundly stupid. She ran, she ran correctly like hellfire and fury were nipping at her half-inch heels. But she ran to the pastel office Hercules Lockhart, where she ignorantly felt she would be protected. 

She flung open his office door and gasp, partly in shock and a little in delight. Hercules' back was to her. He stood in front of his overturned desk, covered in those despicable Weasley children. They were screaming and beating on him. Ah, but one of them, one of those horrid twins (she hoped with all her might that it was Fred) was turning blue as Lockhart's hands clamped tightly around his neck. 

"MISSUS JAAANICE WIIIILLLKES!!" The children's mother roared.

Janice slammed the door. 

Ron spun around, his eyes filled with joy. "MUM! MUM WE'RE IN HERE!" 

"SHOOSH!" Janice cried desperately, "Hercules! You've got to help me!" 

"Certainly… madam…" Lockhart was gasping. His voice sounded strangely muffled, as if he had a cold. "After… I… _kill_…" 

"Let go of him!" George screamed. 

"Let him go!" Janice agreed frantically, "Their mother… she's- she's _psychotic_!" 

Hercules sighed irritably and shoved Fred away. He flew, rolling right over the desk and coming to rest on the floor behind it, where he didn't move. George and Ginny leapt to his aide. Ron had pushed past Janice and was beating on the door, still screaming, "MUM! MUM IN HERE!" 

"RON?" Mrs. Weasley had finally heard. "RON, BABY?" 

"THIS WAY MU-" Ron was silenced as Hercules got to work half-strangling him as well. 

"RON BABY? " The mother roared again. It was the strangest thing Janice had ever heard; a mixture of incredible anger, love and worry. Her eardrums popped violently.

"Ronald! There are so many doors! Call out again," said the shaky voice of a man. 

Janice sank to the floor, her face twisted in grief. Oh, Lord! Was this to be her last day on earth? What had she done to deserve this? She was a selfless, compassionate Saint, for God's sake! She thought of her young life, the sacrifices she'd made for the rotten little children she drug away screaming from their homes to plant somewhere better! What a waste, what a horrible shame! 

"I should have been a Go-Go dancer!" Janice moaned squeakily, tugging at her scalp. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks, leaving _Miss Modern Maroon_ mascara tracks. 

Molly Weasley was preparing to knock down random office doors when she heard Janice's cry. She froze, her wand raised. 

"Darling… Molly, now let's just go in there and get the children and take them home," Mr. Weasley begged, "The Ministry wizards are right behind me, they just needed to make a quick paper trail-" 

"-PAPER TRAIL?" Mrs. Weasley yelled, her face the color of a raging forest fire, "A PAPER TRAIL WHILE MY CHILDREN ARE BEING PRODDED AND MOLESTED BY _MUGGLES_?" 

"They don't understand, darling. They don't understand-" 

"I'm a wonderful mother," said Mrs. Weasley, her eyes growing watery, "Here… I heard that _cow _in _here_." She rapped on the door. Her fist exploded through it, as if the door was crepe paper. Inside she heard a woman shriek- shoes scuttling across the floor. "OPEN UP!" 

"MUM!" The voice of her daughter. 

"MUM!" The voice of one of her twins. 

_One _of her twins? 

She waved her wand and the barrier between her and her children was instantly a pile of dust. The scene she saw inside was enough to give herself and everyone near a coronary. 

A golden-haired man with a long, long nose-- his hands around her youngest son's throat. Her Fred, panting and gasping over a desk that lay on its side, his twin brother behind him, patting him on the back. Her only girl, pale with fright. 

A deadly calm came over the room. Mrs. Weasley's shining eyes settled on Mr. Lockhart. The only sound was that of her teeth; grinding, grinding, grinding. 

The fair-haired man was suddenly embracing Ron as if they were the best of friends. 

"There, there, now, George my boy," Hercules said, laughing nervously and patting Ron gently on the back. "We got that nasty chicken bone out of your throat, didn't we? All better." 

"He tried to kill us, mum!" cried Fred, George, and Ginny. Ron could only sputter, but nodded furiously. 

Molly Weasley took a deep breath that seemed to suck all the air out of the room. Janice tried to make herself as small as possible in the corner, hoping beyond hope that the madwoman wouldn't notice her there. The mother was carrying one of those polished sticks, and what on earth had those disgusting children done to Hercules' nose? 

_It must be one of those concealed crack pipes, _Janice thought, _You can't fool me lady, I read _Newsweek. _Oh Lord save us. That crack-cocaine doubles your strength. She's going to smoke a rock of crack and kill us all! _

Janice let out an anguished moan, her face crumpling like a rotten plum. "I don't want to die!" 

What a grave mistake.

Mrs. Weasley's head snapped right, and her eyes pierced Janice. Janice shielded herself as if the stare would melt her, whimpering for Hercules to save her. He, however, was busy inching slowly, slowly toward his overturned desk. 

Janice was very surprised to see Mrs. Weasley smile at her. Or was she baring her teeth? 

__

"Are you Mrs. Janice Wilkes?" said Molly quietly, her grin widening. 

"Er- actually my surname is… yes." 

"Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Janice Wilkes."

"Oh- oh yes… it's very nice to meet you, too-"

"May I call you Janice?"

"Uh- certainly." 

"Janice, I am not a violent woman." 

"I wouldn't presume to think so, er- Mrs. Weasley-"

"You may call me ma'am." 

"Yes, ma'am." 

"I am not a violent woman, Janice, unless I come home from the shop and discover that my children have been carted away!" Mrs. Weasley put a hand on her hip. "Why did you take my children, Janice?" 

But Molly didn't wait for an answer. She was charging forward for the attack, but luckily for Janice, the thin man stuck out his arm and stopped her. 

Arthur Weasley was still looking at Lockhart. The corners of his mouth were pulled into a chilling frown. "Why, sir, did you try to kill my children?" 

"Why-" Mr. Lockhart stammered, "I-I-" 

"They're wonderful children," said Mr. Weasley, now looking perplexed, "Rambunctious, yes, but a great joy." 

"Oh I agree," said Lockhart brightly, "We've surely enjoyed having them-" 

"Shoosh," said Mr. Weasley. 

"Yes, sir." 

"Fred," said Mr. Weasley. "George."

"Dad?" Fred replied hoarsely. 

"Did you two turn this man's nose into a penis?" 

"I only _wish _we could take credit, dad. Ron did it." 

Mr. Weasley's face was still as serious as a statue, his eyes never leaving Hercules. His wife stood beside him, watching her husband with interest. 

"Ronald-" 

"He deserved it, dad-" 

"-Ronald, I want you to apologize-" 

"I'm not apologizing to _him_!" Ron shrieked. 

"-I want to say you are sorry for giving this man that nose-"

"DAD!" 

"-for the rest of his life." 

Suddenly the room was aglow with no less that six Weasley grins. 

"Mr. Lockhart," said Ron crisply, "I'm sorry you have to be a dickhead for the rest of your life." 

"Thank you, Ronald," said Mr. Weasley, then, turning to his wife, "Go ahead, Molly, dear."

Before he could turn around, a desperate war-cry sounded from Janice's direction. Her heels flew off her feet as she blindly flailed her legs at Mrs. Weasley's wand, crying all the while. The wand flew and Janice flung herself at a stunned Molly-- Hercules dove for his desk-- the Weasley children ran toward their mother-- Mr. Weasley, having never seen a girl fight, stood horrified for a moment by the torrent of hair-pulling and fingernail gouges.

"Stay back-" He ordered his children, poising his wand, "I'll stop this, you keep an eye on _him_." 

The children stopped obediently and turned to pounce on Hercules, but just then he laughed manically and threw what looked like an Muggle aspirin bottle on the ground. A black, roaring, swirling hole opened up in the floor, spreading outward, swallowing Mr. Lockheart, Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny. 

Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley, and Janice gasped and dove at the hole, but it was closed before they hit the ground. 

"NOOOOOOO!" Janice shrieked, "My darling Hercules!" 

Mrs. Weasley's face purpled on the verge of exploding. She made a sweeping motion with both arms and the floor ripped open, exposing the basement below. But there were no children or a Hercules Lockhart down there.

Mr. Weasley snatched up the aspirin bottle, which had landed in the corner. The package read:

_Super-Potent_ _Squib-Be-Gone Ultra! Emergency Escape Concoction_

Even the Magically-Challenged Need Protection from Dark Forces! 

"Merlin's Temple," muttered Mr. Weasley. "Molly, have a look at this." 

But Mrs. Weasley was occupied. She had located her wand and Janice was hanging upside down over an unscathed portion of the floor. "Tell me where my children went," she was saying, "Or I'll make another hole with your head." 

To be Continued.

__

Yeah, so, um… I'm going to try really hard to not take two years to update this again. Sorry about that. 


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